Lord of Desire

There had never been any love lost between her British and French uncles, Alysson knew, bat never had their subtle enmity been less welcome. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she came to Honoréd- defense. "It wasn't his fault, Uncle Oliver! He tried to talk me out of going, but I wouldn't listen—just the way you never listen when your mind is set on an expedition."

“It never would have happened if I had been with you, by God."

Honoré, his face flushed, meekly accepted this scolding as he tried to climb out of his litter. Seeing him wince with pain and clutch his ribs, Alysson moved quickly to bis side, at the same time throwing a furious glance over her shoulder at Oliver.

"I'm entirely aware of your vaunted skills, Uncle, but the outcome would have been no different had you been there, except that you would likely have gotten yourself killed! As it was, Uncle Honoré did everything in his power to save me—in fact, he was wounded trying to rescue me. The least you could do is help him, instead of ringing a peal over his head.''

Oliver's fierce expression relaxed the slightest degree, though he made no apology as he went to Honoréd assistance. "Well, come inside then, you deuced old wine- maker, Cedric will want to examine you."

"Uncle Cedric is here, too?

" Alysson asked in amazement, her temper cooling.

"Yes, yes, come inside and you can tell us everything."

In short order, Alysson and Honoré were swept into the house, to be greeted by her third uncle, the physician from London. Cedric's embrace was a bit less violent and more reserved than his brother's, but just as loving. Alysson was surprised and humbled that he'd been so worried for her that he traveled all this distance for her sake. Until now nothing could drag him away from his precious hospital.

The new arrivals were given time to wash and refresh themselves before being subjected to an interrogation. An hour later found them all gathered in the long reception chamber—Uncle Honoré lying on a divan, the other two uncles sprawled on cushions. Too agitated to sit down, Alysson remained standing.

As was his commanding nature, Oliver at once took charge of the conversation, asking all the questions. Alysson's answers were evasive, however, providing only the sketchiest details of her captivity and her subsequent visit to her captor's mountain home. Of Jafar, she divulged absolutely nothing.

It was that hole in her story that Oliver attacked first.

"You mean to tell me you learned nothing about this man who abducted you? His name, his appearance?"

"I'm afraid not, Uncle."

"Then tell me where you were taken. I shall go after the devil at once and put a bullet through his black heart."

Alysson went pale. "I don't know where I was taken. Somewhere in the desert, I think."

By now Oliver was staring at her with incredulity. "That won't wash, girl. I myself taught you how to judge distances and recognize landmarks. You must have some idea where you were held . . . how far from here, what direction."

"I'm sorry, Uncle, but I don't."

Apparently deciding to try a more profitable tack, he turned a look of frustration on her French uncle. "Honoré?"

In response, the elderly Frenchman gave Alysson a long searching look, before his shoulders rose in a Gallic shrug. "I know nothing of the man's identity."

Oliver vented an explosive oath. "That is all you mean to say? What is this, a conspiracy to hide the truth? Why, for God's sake?" He turned his scowl on his niece. "I think I deserve an explanation after all the trouble you've put me to, my girl. I postponed an expedition to the Caribbean in order to come here and search for you."

"Well, forgive me for interfering with your pleasure!" Alysson snapped back.

"Alysson, my dear," Cedric put in more calmly, "we have been distraught with fear for you. Of course you will understand if Oliver is impatient to discover just what occurred. He only wants to protect you."

She was immediately contrite, and yet she knew very well her Uncle Oliver's threat to shoot Jafar was deadly serious. She had to do something to persuade Oliver to give up his thoughts of revenge. There had been too much bloodshed and vengeance as it was.

"Uncle Oliver, I know you're concerned for me, and I am grateful, I assure you. But there is no need to drag this out any further. What happened, happened. It's over. He didn't harm me. He even showed us every kindness—"

"Not harm you? By God, girl, how can you stand there and defend that savage Arab?"

"He is not an Arab!" Alysson said through clenched teeth. "Nor is he a savage. He's far more civilized than most Europeans I know, including you, Uncle. In fact, he's a nobleman and the grandson of a duke, besides!"

At her impassioned declaration, Oliver's blue eyes narrowed. Alysson, realizing her mistake, abruptly bit her tongue. She had said far more than she had intended about Jafar—and far too much, if the calculating look on her Uncle Oliver's face was anything to judge by.

He stared at her for a long moment before speaking again. "I don't suppose we would be talking about Nicholas Sterling, would we?"

The look on Alysson's face was proof enough, despite her swift denial. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."